I Have Problems
by Brooklynisosm
Summary: Warning: Possible triggers, self-harm, severe anxiety, and depression. Please note that this is NOT a happy story. Nya has been getting better. Jay has been getting worse. Cole is the same. Which is to say, not good. Nya takes her medicine. Jay hides his knife. Cole eats the right amount now. Maybe. All three are about to learn not to judge a book by its cover.


The red is distracting.

My blood is looks blue in my veins.

But out here, in the air, running from my arms and down the sides of the bathtub, it is most definitely red.

I close my eyes. It's the only way I can really focus- focus on the pain, as sharp as the knife that inflicted it.

Take a deep breath. Or two. Or six.

 _In, out, in, out, in, out, in, out, in, out, in, out_ -

It doesn't matter; the tears come anyway, and I'm weak. So weak.

 _Slash._

Two inches and I would have slit my wrist. My aim is awful, and I'm not sure what I was even aiming for.

Tears hurt when they mix with red. _Salt in the wound,_ I think. It's funny.

I'm laughing.

No, I'm not.

It's just the hysteria.

 _Weak._

Cut.

 _Worthless._

Cut.

 _Annoying._

Cut.

 _Pathetic._

Cut.

 _Unloved._

Cut.

Once I start, I can't stop.

And then I hear it.

Someone's knocking on the bathroom door.

"Jay?"

Cole sounds unconcerned. He doesn't care. He wouldn't care, if he knew.

Cole doesn't care about anything.

"Jay, are you in there?"

I take a few more deep breaths.

 _In, out, in, out, in, out._

"Yeah. What do you want?" I say. I sound normal. Happy, a little annoyed. I sound like Jay.

"Everyone's looking for you, Zaptrap." Cole replies through the door.

I can almost see his expression. Flattened eyes, mouth in a line. He could literally not care less.

"Huh, I didn't think anyone cared." I say. My voice wavers.

 _Don't let him hear you cry._

"You okay?" Cole's voice sounds more muffled, like his mouth is closer to the door.

"Fine!"

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

"You've been in there an awfully long time."

Now I bet Cole is doing a suspicious look. And his hair is partially falling over his eyes, and his eyebrows are raised.

"I'm fine, Cole. Just fine." I sigh. It shudders through my being.

"If you're fine, will you please come out of the bathroom? It might be nice to be able to use it every once in awhile." Cole sighs back.

"I'm coming, I'm coming! Sheesh!" I snap at him. "Seriously, you don't have to be so damn sarcastic about everything!"

I'm shaking.

My arms are bleeding far too much for Cole to see them. The bathtub is a red river, scarlet against the stark white of the tiles. My skin is paper. Thin, pale, disposable. And some parts look like they were put through a shredder.

The blade cuts my fingers, too. I was never responsible with scissors.

I turn on the shower. Cole says something else through the door but I don't listen. I wash the blood from the tile, put my arms under the ice-cold spray.

It hurts like hell but I like the pain.

Cole's still talking. And _he_ tells _me_ to shut up.

I turn off the water. The blood is gone from the tub now, but it still oozes from my wounds. Some would say this is self-inflicted, but I know the truth. Every single awful thing someone has said to me is another cut, and I'm just carrying out what I have to do. They hurt me emotionally, I hurt myself physically.

It's how I handle the pain.

I wrap my arms in toilet paper to staunch the bleeding. _I look like a mummy_ , I think, and it would be funny with the others, but alone, nothing is funny.

The long sleeves of my GI cover my makeshift bandages. I'm lucky we have long sleeves now, in the Tournament we didn't and I had to always be on watch to hide my scars. Nobody noticed, though. Nobody cared. During the Tournament I cut my stomach and legs, but arms always have and always will be my default.

Now I wear long sleeves all the time, even in the summer. I get questions, but not as many as if I walked around with cuts covering my skin.

Before I leave the bathroom, I check myself in the mirror. My face is drained white, blue veins and tan freckles standing out against the pale. I haven't been sleeping lately; it shows in my dark circles, which are the same color as the bruises scattered between cuts.

My hair is filled with static, like it always is when I'm stressed. Kai likes to make fun of it. He says it looks like I rub a balloon on my head.

I tell him that my static doesn't come from balloons. It comes from burying my head under my pillow to quiet my sobs, and hiding under the covers at night, and from my powers going haywire like they always do when I'm in pain.

I tell him in my head. On the outside, I laugh.

It's always strained. Kai doesn't notice.

i take a deep breath. I may not look good, but this is the best it's gonna get.

I hold the bottoms of my sleeves with my hands and hunch my shoulders like I'm cold, then turn the doorknob, coming face-to-face with Cole.

"Hi- Jay, are you okay?"

Cole looks alarmed.

I don't even smile at him.

"I'm fine."

I duck past Cole, not looking at him.

He doesn't have the right to be concerned.

"You sure?" Cole says again.

"Yeah." I look at my feet. I'm going to my room. I'm not talking to Cole any more.

He's the reason I was in there.

He doesn't even know it.


End file.
